Thorne slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing with a relentless ache. He blinked, trying to gather his bearings, and instinctively reached out with his senses to locate the temple. To his surprise, there was nothing—no structure, no oppressive presence, only the dense spiritual energy that still clung to the air.
The temple had vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared, yet Thorne could still feel its lingering protection, like a thin veil draped over him.
He sat up, pulling himself together, his thoughts swirling with the fragments of his recent encounter. The man—if he could even be called that in this strange place—had done something to him, something more than just offer him a material for his mask.
As Thorne sorted through the chaotic influx of information in his head, he realized what it was: three locations, compressed into his mind like burning stars on a map. The figure had called them "gifts."
Thorne stared off into the woods, the decision weighing heavily on his shoulders. On one hand, the "gifts" were essentially a map to three locations within the god's garden, each promising something unknown, something perhaps powerful or meaningful.
On the other, he had already obtained his source—the primary reason he'd entered this garden in the first place. He could just turn around, trace his way back to the archway, and teleport out of here, back to Garden's Keep where all maskless entered the forest.
He took out a piece of dried ration from his ring, nibbling on the meat while he mulled over his choices. For a blind boy like him, finding his way back home seemed like the safest, most sensible option. He could avoid further danger, avoid tempting fate with these so-called gifts that might turn out to be more curses than blessings.
But then again, the map in his head tugged at his curiosity like a stubborn hook.
What could possibly lie at those three points marked in his head? Why had the figure gone through the trouble of giving him these locations if there wasn't something important there? Thorne couldn't be sure whether the figure intended to help or harm him, but something deep inside him whispered that if that man—whatever he was—wanted him dead, he'd have done it a hundred times over without all this trouble.
He glanced over at the piece of wood lying beside him—the material he'd been given. Ordinary in appearance but something about it felt profound, a hidden potential he couldn't yet understand. It was enough to convince him that whatever the man had offered, it wasn't all bad.
Thorne sighed, his mind weighing his options.
Should I stay or should I go?
The prospect of unraveling the secrets of those four locations was both terrifying and enticing. Maybe the gods had placed him here for more than just a simple test. Maybe there was something deeper he was meant to discover.
In the end, he knew there was no turning back. He had come this far, and turning away now would leave him with nothing but regret and questions that would haunt him forever. Standing up, he felt his determination solidify. If there was a path laid out for him, he'd see it to its end.
"Alright," he whispered, gripping the wood firmly.
"Let's see what these gifts really are."
Thorne carefully beamed the wood into his ring, his lips curving into a wry smile. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved to have a clear direction to follow instead of fumbling around in this vast, unforgiving forest. But he couldn't help but laugh at the irony.
"A blind search, huh?" he muttered to himself.
"Well, I am blind, so I guess I'm always searching in the dark."
With a shake of his head, he refocused his thoughts. Now that he wasn't leaving anything to chance, he'd get these so-called gifts and leave this cursed garden behind.
The next two days were grueling. Thorne maneuvered through the dense forest, constantly on guard.
He'd been spotted by a White-Spot Sabre-tooth, a formidable predator with a thick mane and massive fangs.
It had taken everything he had to escape from the beast. At one point, he'd buried himself under a thick layer of leaves and mud for several hours just to mask his scent. Thankfully, it wasn't a Masked Beast; if it had been, he would have had to hope for a quick death and acceptance into the Ancestral realm.
As he trudged through the forest, he noticed a peculiar change in his use of spirituality. His senses were sharper, more attuned to the ebb and flow of the energies around him.
At first, he thought it was just a coincidence, a product of his prolonged time in the dense spiritual environment. But the more he considered it, the more he suspected it had something to do with the temple—or whatever it was. After everything he'd experienced there, Thorne knew better than to trust anything inside this forest.
He squatted by a creek, scooping up the cold, clear water to wash his face. It felt refreshing against his skin, a brief respite from the unrelenting tension of his journey. The first point on the map in his head was just beyond the creek, and he could already feel a strange pull coming from that direction.
Thorne's mind raced with questions. What awaited him at these marked locations? Was it truly a gift, or another trial meant to break him? He splashed his face one more time, the water dripping down his chin as he stared into the dark, flowing stream. Whatever lay ahead, he was determined to face it head-on.
He stood, gripping the hilt of his sword, his senses wide open. The creek's gurgling faded into the background as his focus narrowed.
"Just beyond the creek," he murmured to himself.
"Let's see what you have in store for me." With that, he stepped across the stream and plunged deeper into the unknown, ready to confront whatever awaited him.